Crashing into you
by Is0lde
Summary: [Andrew x Warren]rnSequel to "Utopia". Andrew's still in love, Warren doesn't have a clue... and Jonathan does some really stupid stuff with spirits he shouldn't have... R&R!
1. The food issue

_(author's note: Hiya! This is the sequel to "Utopia". I don't have much to say other than the little "Crashing into you" poem thingy here beneath is © me, as well. So no cheating and stealing from lyrics here...  
I'd really appreciate any and all reviews!)_  
  
--------------------------------  
  
**Chapter one: The food issue**

---

"_I guess there's nothing I can do  
__Yeah, I guess  
__I guess I'm crashing  
__Crashing into you"_

---

The sun beamed down from above them. Birds sang. The pavement felt steaming hot beneath Andrew's bare feet – it had been all too warm for shoes this day.  
It was all so cliché, it was perfect for a stroll about the town.

"So what you're saying is we shouldn't hurt women and children?" Andrew said doubtingly. His question was met by a hearty laugh from Warren. He had sunglasses on, and with his black clothes and dark hair, they kind of made him look like James Bond. Andrew smiled inside at the thought of this.  
"No, silly. We just have to wait until we're in complete control of the situation. If we begin killing off too many people already, the police and whatnot will become suspicious. And the Lair, while being perfect for the three of us _now_, won't be sufficient as a hiding-place if they come looking for us. I'm not finished working with the Razor Surprise™. You know that." Frowning, he kicked away some pebbles in front of him. "We really need to get another name for it, though. Remind me of that later."

Andrew nodded. He was happy to be at service. After all, Warren was the superior one of the three of them. It was obvious. He had the most power, considering Jonathan screwed up with his magic now and then. He wasn't fully trained. Warren, on the other hand... he had full control over his machines. And that was worth _everything.  
_  
"Okay. I get it now. No mercy, then?"  
Warren smiled – a twisted, deranged smile. Andrew didn't recognise it for what it was, though. He just saw it as another one of those handsome smiles of his. He wasn't that attentive.  
"No mercy. None at all. We'll gain more that way. You know... 'leave none alive'. It really makes perfect sense. No resistance means absolute control." Warren's smile stayed on, as his eyes glinted madly in their sockets. "And I like being in control."

Andrew, not having any problem seeing Warren as the emperor and sole ruler of the Universe, shrugged. His friend said these things a lot nowadays – more now than ever before, in fact. Andrew wondered if it had anything to do with them, as in the Trio, actually getting closer and closer to their goal. They were getting skilled at this taking over the world thing they were still mere trainees at.

"But what do we do about the food issue? I mean, if there are no workers alive, the factories will be empty. Hence: no food for us. Cheetos don't manufacture themselves. That's even a bigger problem than the reproduction one!"  
Warren cursed his friend's simple mind. But he showed no sign of this on the surface. He was a quite gifted actor. "So we'll make Jonathan conjure up some food, then, just before we... let him go. Hey, I think we spoke of this last week, didn't we? It's _no problem_, Andrew, trust me. His powers are growing. Speaking of that, I wonder how the seance project is working out for him?"  
He didn't give it much thought. That was entirely Jonathan's problem. Meddling with ghosts didn't at all appeal to Warren and his talents. He liked the mechanical stuff more. Ghosts, spirits and magic, those things were so unpredictable.  
And it was just like he said: Warren liked _being in control..._

"I bet he's on it right now," smiled Andrew. "I really hope he makes it. The he'll be, like... super powerful."  
"Yeah." Warren smiled back. "It's about time he caught up with me... err, I mean, with _us_."


	2. Ghosts!

**Chapter two: Ghosts  
**

Among the candles placed upon the floor, Jonathan sat, not at all as relaxed and calm as he should be. To make this ritual work, the old magic book he'd bought recently told him, you had to be totally relaxed and tranquil. That was certainly not the case with this magician.

Ghosts. He'd never experimented with ghosts before, not even spirits. It was quite normal, the book said, to feel a bit nervous when you make a first attempt to contact spirits for council or enhancing of power. The trick is to keep trying until you get it right.  
This was not, however, Jonathan's first attempt.  
More like his fifteenth or sixteenth.

He was getting frustrated, too. Why was this always the case? Why did magic have to be so damned complicated? What did current mood have to do with summoning spirits, anyway?  
Jonathan knew. It had _everything_ to do with summoning spirits. If you were in the wrong mood, you could easily attract powerful, malevolent spirits, who'd much rather suck all life out of you than help you obtain powers to take over the world. He knew this all too well, and still, it annoyed him greatly. He just couldn't come to peace with these conditions.

Jonathan exhaled slowly. Closing his eyes, he began to chant all over again. Strange, mystical words in a language so old even basic grammatical rules didn't apply. He often found himself pronouncing the words entirely wrong, and then, he had to start over again. Pronouncing ancient scroll language wrong could have dire consequences, beyond even Jonathan's vivid imagination.  
This time, everything flowed quite nicely. He stopped the chant, a content smile on his face, and lit five of the candles in front of him, forming a pentagram.  
"Appear." Just a whisper, a fragment of a sound. Then, he opened his eyes again.  
Gasping of terror, he shrunk back, his head making brutal contact with the chair behind him.

He had certainly not expected this.  
Positively.

The spectre that had appeared on his command was wearing white, skin-tight clothes, with lots of glitter and stars on them. His hairdo was pretty outdated, too, and had apparently been done using almost a year's supply of spray and gel.

"What are YOU doing here?" Jonathan asked, his voice trembling distinctly.  
The dark-haired apparition in front of him stared blankly. "You didn't summon me?"  
"No! Well, not on purpose, anyway..." Suddenly, Jonathan remembered that he was supposed to be an experienced (well, at least mildly experienced) magician, and here he was, stuttering like an insecure child. This was not the way to make spirits respect and obey you. He got a grip on himself. "Err, I mean, be gone, spirit from the past! You are not the one I'm looking for!"  
"Oh." The ghost looked very disappointed. He probably didn't get summoned a lot. "Maybe I can help you, though! I could try and contact the spirit you're looking for... just tell me the name, and I'll..."  
"Khan. The name is Khan." Jonathan looked at the glamorous ghost. He saw him shrink almost into nothingness.  
"I... I... Khan, that's... I mean, wow. _Wow._ I didn't think you were that experienced! Uh, I mean, no offence, but aren't you a bit too... _young_ to summon Khan?"  
Jonathan sighed. "Don't tell me. It's the height, isn't it?"  
"Uh... yeah."  
"Figured as much. Well, I guess you don't have the guts to contact Khan for me, or am I wrong?"  
The ghost scratched his head nervously. "I think I'd better stay out of this."  
"Why am I not surprised." Jonathan was getting mighty irritated now. Not only had he summoned the wrong spirit, he's also managed to get the most cowardly one.  
"But since I'm already here, you know, I _could_ teach you a thing or two about moving your hips in a way that'll make girls swoon hopelessly over you..."  
"Oh, shut up!"

Jonathan couldn't think of the right words in Babylonian to send the spectre back to wherever the hell he'd come from. Cursing obviously didn't help the least bit, 'cause it was still there, looking meekly at him.  
Out of nowhere, his mind finally connected. Uttering the right words in a high-pitched, nervous voice, he threw a fistful of supposedly magical powder at the ghost, whom with a hurt look on his face started to fade slowly, becoming more and more transparent.  
  
"Okay, I get the message. Just tell your friends, the King is still..."  
And then, he was gone.

_The King is still what? Alive? Shouldn't think so,_ Jonathan thought to himself. His relief was as great and overwhelming as a Japanese tsunami. Tiredly, he leaned back against the chair behind him, and made himself comfortable again.  
  
That had been _way_ too risky. He'd clearly made a big mistake with the pronunciation somewhere along the line, and it could've ended very badly, Jonathan realised.  
What was he really sacrificing for the group here? He was damned lucky to have got Elvis, instead of some other ghost, maybe one turned cannibal over the years as a deceased. At the rate he was going, the next spectre could easily be Dahmer, the Ripper or some other psychopathic monster.

Anyway, his pulse had begun slowing down, thank good... err, _evilness.  
_He was just going to have to be more careful, that was all. No need to stop, just... be more careful, more thorough.

He wasn't giving up that easily.


	3. Torturing Cordelia Chase

**Chapter three: Torturing Cordelia Chase**

"Some day, I'd like to tie a victim to a whipping-post," said Warren, seemingly very serious. The two of them were at an ice-cream bar now, sitting in a couple of those high chairs you can only find in such places, and nowhere else. The girl serving them looked at Warren like he was crazy, and turned away from them, a disgusted look on her face. Warren gave her a long stare, as though he was trying to see beyond her clothing. Andrew smiled. Kind of like Superman. X-ray vision. He wondered if they could develop that in the future. But he decided to wait with that question until they were more established as a crime-syndicate.  
"Someone like her," Warren said, a dreamy gaze dominating his face. "I'd torture her any day of the week."  
  
Andrew frowned. Again, he'd lost track of what was being said. He felt stupid, but had to ask.  
"Err, Warren... why'd you want to do that? I mean, why her?"  
His companion smiled shrewdly. "'Cause it'd be fun, Andy. It'd be fun watching her scream, writhing like a worm on a hook, begging for mercy. She's so... pretty. And, you know, it's like in that song – _all beauty must die_." His smile changed; he now looked like a cat, about to trap a mouse between its gigantic, clawed paws. "And when you think about it, she could be anyone. You know? She could be someone who turned you down in high school, 'cause you weren't cool enough for her. Like that bitch, Cordelia. Now _her_ I'd like to see on a whipping-post."

Andrew wondered what Cordelia had ever done to Warren. But he guessed it was the same old stuff that always happened to guys like him – humiliation, rejection... that alone motivates dreaming up bloody torture-methods.  
Although, Andrew figured, Warren wasn't serious anyway, so what was there to care about, really? They were just discussing the _possibility_ of this.

Right?

He decided to change the subject. The people working in the ice-cream bar were now looking at them very strangely, almost as if they were thinking about calling someone very large and sturdy to come take care of them.  
  
"Hey, you think there are, like, more lives than one? I mean, that reincarnation stuff... you believe in it?"  
Warren turned his head and looked at him, a surprised look on his face. "What? What has that to do with torturing Cordelia?"  
"Nothing, obviously, but... well, I was just wondering. I don't know what to make of it."  
Warren shrugged. "I don't know. I guess there could be. It's a scary thought, though."  
Andrew smiled happily at him – a bit too happily, perhaps. "I reckon you were a member of the high-nobility in one of your past lives, anyway."  
"You do? How do you figure?"  
"Well, umm, you've got this..." He stopped.

What had he got himself into _now_? What was he going to say?

Since last week, he'd been wondering about these strange things that he felt when he was around Warren. Like there was nothing else that mattered but the two of them. He'd come to the conclusion that it was perfectly normal, that it was just hormones, and that he'd be best off trying to ignore them. And yet here he was now, getting himself in a whole lot of trouble just 'cause he'd wanted to change the subject. Stupid, stupid, stupid!  
He slapped himself mentally.

"... this glow. You know? Like you're... higher up that the rest of us. We're down at the bottom, you're way up there." He pointed upwards, vaguely. "In the clouds. You know what I mean?"  
Warren looked at him suspiciously. "Hold your horses, Andy. Sure, I'm gifted, but I don't believe all that crap about hierarchy. I'm down here with you guys." _Liar,_ he thought to himself. _You're much better than they are, and you know it.  
_Andrew smiled at him cheerfully. "I guess."


	4. Chilli sauce

**Chapter four: Chilli sauce**

Heading back, Andrew had put his shoes on again. The sunny weather they'd enjoyed before had disappeared as suddenly as it had come over them, and rain-clouds were now gathering in the sky above Sunnydale. It was a bit dark outside, but Warren hadn't removed his sunglasses. Andrew figured it had something to do with prestige.

"Andy?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Could I borrow your jacket? It's too cold for wearing only a tee shirt, and if I'm not mistaken, you're wearing that knitted shirt beneath your coat."  
Andrew lit up. _He wants to wear my jacket! He trusts in me to lend him my jacket! He noticed what I was wearing!  
_"Of course." In what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, he pulled off his warm and comfortable coat, and handed it over to Warren, who dragged it on him quickly.  
"Thanks. I was freezing, you know."  
"No problem." His insides felt all fuzzy and warm. He didn't feel cold at all, even though he knew he should. The knitted shirt wasn't nearly enough.  
But he was content with the way things where. His jacket on Warren, himself walking right there beside him.  
  
"It fits you," he dared to say, quickly so he wouldn't lose his nerve.  
"What? Oh, thanks I guess."  
Then, they continued walking in silence. No words were needed in this situation.  
At least that was how Andrew interpreted his partner's silence.  
Well, they say ignorance is bliss...

---  
  
Immediately when they entered the Lair, they knew something was wrong. All lights were out, and stumbling upon different things apparently scattered on the floor, Warren had to feel his way through the room, all the way to the light-switch.  
When he finally reached it and pressed it down, he heard a gasp from behind him. He turned, and it felt as though his heart stopped beating for a second.

The place was completely trashed. Their things were all over the floor, like Warren had suspected, scattered widely. Nothing seemed to be broken, though. The furniture seemed to be in almost perfect order, except someone had poured some red substance all over them.  
  
"Warren... that isn't blood, is it?" Andrew's voice was shaking.  
"Nah, I don't think so. Looks like chilli sauce to me." Warren dipped his finger in the substance, and put the finger in his mouth. "Yep, it's chilli sauce alright."  
"H-how did you know?"  
"Jonathan bought some last week. You know, for the tacos."  
"Right. Hey, speaking of, where is Jonathan, anyway?"  
"He said he'd perform the ritual in the basement." Warren scowled. "He would've heard if someone tried to break in, though. Come on, let's go downstairs."

They walked down the staircase carefully, Warren first, Andrew a few steps behind. The latter was scared out of his wits. Something wasn't right. This didn't feel _right.  
_The first thing they saw when they got down, in the very limited light of the small wax candles Jonathan used for rituals such as this, was ripped-apart pieces of paper covering the floor.  
"What the hell _is_ this?" muttered Warren. He picked up a piece. "How to make crops rot... burnt motor-oil? What kind of crap is this, anyway?"  
"Hey, I've found the cover!" Andrew waved it back and forth in the air for Warren to see. "Says here, it's 'Ye Practical Magick Handbook', third edition. Author... Un Noown? Probably some Indian fellow..."  
"Author _unknown_, idiot," grunted Warren.  
"Oh."  
Suddenly, an obscure sound was heard, almost like a moan.  
"Did you hear that?" asked Andrew, even more frightened now that ever.  
Warren nodded. "Yeah. I think it came from behind that wardrobe there..." He started walking towards it, slowly, and as quietly as he could. When he'd reached it, he carefully pushed it to the left. He saw that there was a small space behind it. Andrew gasped for the third time.  
"Would you please stop gasping?" Warren asked irritably. "Or at least try and help me here? This wardrobe is pretty heavy..."  
Andrew immediately shut up, and hurried to Warren's aid. Together, they pushed it entirely aside.

They weren't all together ready for what was waiting for them.


	5. Never buy magic books on Ebay

**Chapter five: Never buy magic books on Ebay**

"_Jonathan?"_

The boy was hanging there helplessly, tied to a pole with a thick rope. He looked at them dully when they appeared before him, terribly surprised looks on both of their faces.  
"Hiya, fellows." His voice was so small it wouldn't even have frightened a mouse.  
"Jonathan, what happened?" Warren looked at him with a strange mix of disgust and interest.  
"The ritual... I failed, I just... it was beyond my talent, trying to summon... Khan." He had difficulty getting the words out just right, and other stopped just to breathe.  
"Andy, go get him some water, why don't you," Warren said. He was eager to know how this had happened, and at the speed Jonathan was talking now, they'd be finished some time around next Christmas – if they were lucky.  
Andrew nodded. "Okay, Warren." He ran up the stairs again, steps light as if he was floating on clouds. He was like that sometimes. By the time he'd got down again, Warren had almost succeeded in getting all the ropes off Jonathan. Looking a bit stressed, he literally ripped apart the next small bit of rope. Carefully, he grabbed a strong hold around Jonathan's waist and lifted him down, slowly, so the boy wouldn't hurt all too much.

Andrew felt a sudden sting inside him. They were so close to one another now, so damned close... Warren with his arms around Jonathan's body, and Jonathan with his hands around Warren's neck.  
_This is ridiculous. I've got to stop thinking like this, there's something wrong with my head, yeah, that's it... I'm sick! I have a terrible, terrible concussion, and I'll be well in a while... _Andrew's thoughts wandered feverishly back and forth, and he didn't know what was real anymore, and what was just his imagination. Didn't Warren look very content with having Jonathan in his arms, or was that just his fantasy running wild, taking his senses over completely? Andrew hoped for the latter.

When Warren had laid Jonathan down on the floor, he was eager to question his companion about exactly what had happened.  
"So you tried to summon Khan," he concluded, looking impatiently at him.  
Jonathan lifted the bottle of Evian Andrew had brought to his mouth, and drank. Then, he sighed, apparently revived slightly by the cold liquid. "Yeah. I tried. At least thirty times, I think..."  
"And it didn't work?" Andrew asked.  
Jonathan gave him an irritated glance. "Well, obviously it didn't. You think I'd be laying here, almost out cold, if I'd been given the power of Khan, the greatest spirit-master _ever_?"  
"S-sorry," Andrew stuttered. "I just... no, go on."  
"Yeah, go on, Jonathan. Don't mind him." Warren didn't even look at Andrew.  
Again, something stung inside him. _Stupid concussion!,_ thought Andrew to himself.  
"Okay. So... I think there must have been something wrong with the book, because no matter how many times I tried, and no matter how sure I was that I'd succeeded, I always got either no ghost at all or the wrong one. And finally, I _really_ went off the chart... and I got poltergeists."  
"Poltergeists?" Andrew looked lost.  
"Malicious spirits. They're only out to harm and ridicule people," Warren retorted.  
"Exactly, Warren." Jonathan smiled vaguely. "I guess your time with me hasn't been entirely wasted – you've actually learnt something!"  
"Yeah." Warren smiled back.

This time, Andrew's heart ached so much he thought it was going to break. _This is crazy! You can't get a concussion in your heart, right?_ He felt so confused, he didn't know what to do with himself. Instead, he just sat there and did nothing at all. Just stared at Warren, and wondered if he'd notice if he just went upstairs and buried himself alive or something. He didn't try, though.

"So where did you get this book, anyway?" Warren asked. "We could probably punish the one you bought it from. Seems to me like he's done a number on you. I sure hope you didn't pay too much."  
Jonathan blushed. "Well... you see, that might actually be a problem, the whole revenge thing."  
"Why do you reckon?"  
"Because... I got it on Ebay."

Warren said nothing for a while. He just sat there, eyes fixated on Jonathan. Then, he started laughing so hard Andrew thought he might burst.  
"On... on Ebay? That's... he he he... that's just... ah, fuck it..."  
"What's so funny?" Jonathan looked a bit uneasy, and no wonder – he'd just admitted to a _huge_ mistake in front of the given leader of the gang.  
"Well, Johnny boy, it's funny because that's just such a typical thing for you to do! Buy a magic book off the Internet... I mean, how are you supposed to control that you're getting what you paid for?"  
"Ah, shut up Warren! It's not like I could go to the Magic Box or something! You know the Scoobies run that now."  
"Did it ever occur to you that you can shape-shift? At least I hope you're powerful enough to do that."  
"Of course I am! It's just... well, things always go wrong when we encounter the Slayer and her friends, us being her arch nemesis...es. So I thought..."  
Warren stopped him with a wave of his hand. "I know what you thought. It's all right. A human mistake, I suppose. Just consult me next time, okay?"  
Jonathan nodded. "Yeah."

Still chuckling somewhat, Warren stood up nimbly, grabbed Jonathan's hand and dragged him up from the floor.  
"So I guess you've learnt your lesson now... partner?"  
Jonathan smiled, blushing slightly. "Yes. Never buy magic books on Ebay."  
"Never. You remember that."

---

When Andrew went to bed that night, his head was filled with things he didn't want there, his body was filled with feelings he didn't want either, and he had to fight the urge to go lie down beside Warren instead.  
_  
This is all wrong_, he thought to himself for the fiftieth time that day. _Wrong, you hear? You stop this _right now_, okay?  
__  
It's impossible._

_No, you listen here! Four words: never... going... to... happen!_

_I don't care. As long as I'm around him, it's all right._

_No! Stop it! Kill these emotions before they take you over! They'll only bring you heartache and pain!_

_I still don't care. Shut up so I can fall asleep, and maybe dream about him._

And on it went, this pointless discussion in his head, with himself.  
People are always irrational when they're...

_When they're what? In love? Is this love?  
__Am I in love?  
__No,_ he realised. _I'm not in love, by definition. At least I don't think I am.  
__But I'm most definitely crashing._

_Crashing into him._


End file.
